Thursday, January 11, 2018

Surprise! I'm a dude!

Some of you already
know this, and to some this will be a surprise. Today, on my 33rd
birthday, I am officially coming out as transgender.

When I was very
young, perhaps four, I garnered a lot of mocking when I told my female cousin E,
that she couldn't play with my male cousin S and I, because the game was 'only
for boys'. S still likes to bring this up, laughing that I thought I was a boy.

I still have to
quietly swallow the words: "I am."

I remember asking
to wear boy's uniforms at school. Often. Only to be rebuked by the principals.
I remember their faint confusion and my resentment. I remember being ordered by
teachers to take off the shorts I always wore under the skirts and dresses and
viciously refusing, thankfully to be backed up by my mother.

I remember a childhood
resistant to dresses, but plenty of sharks, dinosaurs, mud, trees, frogs,
creeks and sci fi adventures. I was shorts, t-shirts, short hair and bare feet.
And I was blessed to have a mother who just let me be, even though most of the
time I was trying very hard to be a dinosaur. Every time I played pretend with
my friends, I was a boy. And I was very happy then. I'm sure to a certain
friend of the time, Stormy, this announcement is not news.

I remember the
aborted attempt to transition when I was 17-18, when everyone knew me as
Frankie. I was terrified by the effort I thought it would take to pass and I
remember my confusion when my friends at the time mocked me for wearing makeup
or skirts. (To those friends, I forgive you, I love you.) I couldn't find a
place in either role. Then I finally resigned myself to the feminine. Then I
got very fat, because I was depressed.

In the same way
closeted queers sometimes pretend their partner is someone else in order to
follow through with intimacy, I needed to pretend I was someone else. And a
sincere and heartfelt nod to all my exes who went along with that.

I have never been a
woman when I dream. I am always male. Ever since I was a child, and still, to
this day.

For years, I
struggled to look a certain way. I chose Nigella Lawson as my fashion role
model and tried to match her hair, her clothes, her figure. And the closer I
got, the more I hated myself. I couldn't walk past a mirror without feeling
sick. The sight of my own reflection was like medusa or basilisk. A horror fit
to turn me to stone. I always expected to see the man I am when I dream, and
the person in the mirror always a stranger.

I, very unfairly,
pushed my femininity onto the object of my unrequited affections. I told myself
if I could be feminine enough they were attracted to me, I would stop hating
myself. I punished them for my failure, and I lost a friend who is still owed
an apology. You did not deserve a confused man in a dress burdening you with
his self-worth, I'm sorry. (You don't owe me shit, but the olive branch is
still extended if you want your bro back.)

I met the amazing
Miranda Sparks who one day said something like: "You don't have to be out
to be trans, if you feel you aren't the gender you were born with, that's
enough." One casual facebook post saved me.

It was, stupidly,
the first time I realised what my problem might be. I brought a terrible men's wig
and a binder and went to Rivers to buy men's clothes. I was so scared someone
would challenge me going into the changing rooms I was nauseous. I went to my
first trans meet up and told other friends it was a cosplay group.

Most of you have
seen my hair slowly getting shorter. Some of you know I donated most of my
femme clothes and have been rebuilding my wardrobe with new style icons (Kelly
Turnbull and G-Dragon, if you must know).

A few of you even
know my preferred pronouns are masculine. But now I am making it official. Dude, guy, bro, he, him, his, dad, uncle,
nephew, Mr, prince, king, boyfriend, brother, son.

I am not going to
insist you use my correct pronouns if you don't want to. You can be an ass if
you like, just don't expect me to use your correct pronouns either.

I'm also not going
to be mad if you get it wrong accidentally. 33 years is a long habit to break
for me too.

For those of you
who are wondering what to call me now, since Talitha literally means 'little
girl', a lot of friends already call me Tag. Family calls me Tee or TJ already,
and I am leaning toward 'Jake' as a full time masculine name, since that is
what people tend to call me in dreams.

Also, I know you
may have some questions about what comes next for me, transition wise, but in
most cases the answer is: "Unless I intend to sleep with you, it's none of
your fucking business." And pro tip, I don't intend to sleep with you.

If you are a man
and you are wondering if being attracted to me makes you gay, the answer is no,
you might be a little bit bi—however I'm not into you anyway, so you can get on
with your life. Same goes for lesbians.

If you are going to
tell me it’s a shame, or that I look better as a woman, just unfriend me now.
I'll see you again when I piss on your grave after your funeral with my giant,
manly dick.

That said, everyone
so far has been fantastic. I have had nothing but support from my friends and
family so far. A special shout out to Alanna, James, Miranda and Meg for giving
me extra support when I needed it and the confidence to keep moving forward
with this process.

Also, I'm 33 today.
ONLY NOW ITS WORSE BECAUSE I LOOK LIKE A 12-YEAR-OLD BOY INSTEAD OF A 16-YEAR-OLD
GIRL.

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About Me

Born in 1985, Talitha is a geeky Australian writer who spends an unhealthy amount of time reading and watching horror movies. She also loves fresh water shrimps and snakes, and lives in a house dominated by various tanks housing both. She advises that shrimps are the best companions for writers; as they always look like they are typing. Snakes, on the other hand, simply knock everything off your desk—including keyboards, mugs, entire computers and shrimp tanks.
Talitha’s other interests include entomology, rock climbing, reading, web design, photography and video gaming.